Earlier....
"I want Papa! I want Papa!"
Alphard's tiny body shook with hefty, hysterical sobs, his face flushed brilliant red as he buried his wet nose directly into the crook of Esme's neck. He kicked his little legs against her waist in a full, desperate tantrum, his small hands clutching wildly at her blonde hair.
"Shh, mon bébé, shh..." Esme murmured gently in her rich French accent, swaying side to side as she patted his back with a practiced, soothing rhythm. "Papa is at busy, darling. He will be home soon. Look, see the light outside? It's almost bedtime."
"No! No bedtime! Papa now!" Alphard wailed, his voice cracking into a high-pitched, pitiful squeak.
Esme sighed softly, pressing a kiss to his warm cheek. It was completely baffling. Toddlers were notoriously fickle creatures—unpredictable and sudden in their meltdowns—but Alphard had never had been this angry when Sirius away. Sirius often had to leave the estate, and Alphard had never batted an eye, happily playing with his wooden toy broom or his favorite blocks. Yet tonight, the moment Sirius had stepped through the Floo in his formal robes, Alphard had woken up from his nap in an inconsolable panic, screaming for his father as if his world had shattered.
Is it a toddler thing? Esme wondered, smoothing back his dark, sweaty curls. Do two-year-olds just wake up one day and decide their world is ending if their father isn't within arm's reach?
Before she could attempt to bribe him with a warm cup of spiced milk, the heavy oak doors of the nursery creaked open.
"Miss Esme," the house-elf, Tiffy, stammered, her ears drooping with anxiety as she wrung her apron in her hands. "Young Corvus's fever has spiked again."
"What?"
The maternal warmth in Esme's eyes instantly vanished, replaced by a sharp, protective alarm. Out of all their children, Corvus was by far the most delicate. He was the most sensitive to seasonal chills and magical flus. A minor fever in Draco, Lyra, or Rigel was usually gone by morning, but with Corvus, a sudden spike meant labored breathing and high temperatures that could linger for much longer.
"Take mon bébé for just a moment, please," Esme said quickly, handing the wailing toddler off to the anxious elf.
Alphard's screeches doubled in volume the second his mother's arms left him. "Maman! Papa!"
"I'll be right back, mon petit bébé," Esme promised, rushing down the lit corridor toward Corvus' room.
The moment she crossed the threshold, the dry heat in the room hit her. Corvus was curled into a small ball under his velvet quilts, his cheeks bright crimson and his breathing coming in shallow, raspy hitches.
Esme immediately knelt beside Corvus's bed, placing a gentle, cool palm against his forehead. He was burning up.
Back in the corridor, the head house-elf, Tiffy, wrung her hands in sheer desperation. "Young master Alphard, please! Look at the wooden hippogriff! See how it flies?"
Alphard didn't want the hippogriff. Red-faced and practically vibrating with toddler rage, he snatched a heavy wooden building block off the side table and reared his arm back, intending to hurl it straight at Tiffy's oversized ears.
A small, firm hand clamped down on his wrist mid-swing.
"We don't throw things at the house-elves, Alphie," Rigel said flatly, pulling the block cleanly from his little brother's sticky grip.
Lyra slipped into the hallway right behind him, her blue eyes wide with a mix of curiosity and mischief.
"I want Papa!" Alphard shrieked, stamping his foot so hard his socks nearly slipped on the polished wood.
Rigel let out a heavy, long-suffering sigh. As Corvus's twin, a faint, uncomfortable ache hummed beneath his own ribs—a lingering echo of his brother's fever and distress. His mother and father had carefully explained that they needed to sleep in separate rooms for a few days so Rigel wouldn't catch the magical flu, but he still hated being away from Corvus.
"Then we find Papa!" Lyra declared, crossing her arms over her chest with absolute four-year-old conviction.
Rigel blinked at his sister, frowning. "What? Papa is away."
"Well, where does Papa usually go when he works?" Lyra reasoned. "He goes to his office! So, we just go to his office."
"Mistress Lyra, no!" Tiffy squeaked, her large eyes practically bulging out of her head as she wrung her apron into tight knots. "Master Sirius is not in his office! He is at the big, fancy Yuletide Gala at Blackwood Castle! Mistress Esme says young masters and mistress must stay in the nursery!"
"Papa is in his office," Lyra insisted stubbornly, completely ignoring the frantic elf. She grabbed Alphard by his little hand, hauling him along as she marched down the corridor toward Sirius's private study. "He always does his paperwork there."
"Lyra, wait—" Rigel called out, reluctantly trotting after them.
The three children crowded into Sirius's dimly lit study. The massive mahogany desk sat quiet and empty, but the grand, carved marble fireplace on the far wall was crackling with low, emerald-tinted flames.
"See?" Rigel pointed at the empty leather armchair. "Papa's not here."
Alphard's face instantly fell. His lower lip began to tremble, his big grey eyes filling with fresh, glossy tears as he stared at the cold, empty desk. "Papa..." he whimpered, looking completely heartbroken.
"Should we wait?" Lyra asked, tilting her head as she looked around the quiet study.
"Mistress Lyra, Young Master Rigel, please!" Tiffy squeaked, hovering frantically behind them with her bat-like ears flattened against her head. "We must be going back to the nursery! Mistress Esme will be very upset!"
"We can just leave a note," Rigel suggested, walking toward the hearth to look for parchment.
As he stepped closer, the low embers in the fireplace flickered green, casting soft emerald shadows across the hearth. Because the study Floo was strictly ward-bound, it remained permanently connected only to the secondary ancestral properties of the House of Black—a safety measure meant to keep them isolated from the public Floo Network.
A tiny cloud of lingering Floo soot drifted up into the air near the hearth rug. Alphard, who was standing right near the edge, inhaled a noseful of the sparkling dust. His tiny nose twitched once. Twice.
"A-a-ah..." Alphard gasped, his dark curls bobbing as he reared his head back.
"Alphie, don't—" Rigel started, reaching out a hand.
"ACHOO!"
The sheer force of the toddler's sneeze sent him stumbling backward right onto the hearth stone, his foot catching the edge of the brass pot and knocking a liberal spray of glittering Floo powder directly into the grate.
WOOSH!
A surge of magic reacted with the powder, and the embers erupted into a roaring column of brilliant emerald flames. Alphard didn't say a word. He just blinked up at the pretty green light in sheer astonishment.
"Alphie, get out!" Rigel yelled, lunging forward but it was too late.
The green flames whirled around the two-year-old's small frame, pulling him into the roaring vortex with a soft pop, leaving behind only a trail of soot and two thoroughly stunned elder siblings.
Tiffy let out a shriek so loud it nearly rattled the crystal inkwells on the desk.
At that exact moment, the heavy oak door of the study clicked open. Esme stepped into the room, holding a damp linen cloth in one hand and looking thoroughly perplexed.
"What is all this noise?" Esme asked, her brow furrowing as her sharp gaze swept over her children. "How on earth did you get in here? This door was locked—"
She froze.
The hearth was still glowing with a brilliant, dying emerald light. A faint trail of soot dusted the carpet, and Tiffy was cowering on the floor, pulling at her oversized ears in sheer agony. Rigel and Lyra stood side-by-side near the hearth, looking utterly sheepish, their hands tucked behind their backs like two little statues caught red-handed.
Esme's heart dropped into her stomach. Her eyes darted from the fading green flames to her two children.
"Where is your brother?" Esme asked, her voice dangerously quiet and calm.
Lyra and Rigel exchanged a quick, terrified glance. Rigel swallowed hard, pointing a single, trembling finger toward the fireplace.
"Alphie go fire," Lyra offered meekly.
Esme stared at the hearth for one long, horrifying second as the reality set in.
"Oh, merde."
*****
Alphard was down on his hands and knees on the hard stone hearth, blinking away the tickly green dust in his eyes. He took a heavy breath, his little belly puffing out, and—
"ACHOO!"
His nose nearly hit the floor as he sneezed, a tiny plume of black soot puffing out around his cheeks. He wiped his face with his sleeve, leaving a long gray streak across his nose, but he didn't care. The floor here wasn't warm and ruggy. It was hard and brrr—very cold to touch on his small hands.
He sat back on his heels, his messy dark curls bouncing.
He wasn't in Papa's office anymore. He was in a giant, shadowy hallway with giant paintings staring down at him from high up on the stone walls. The grand fireplace behind him was cold and dark, its ancient embers fading back to gray now that he was through.
Music?
A faint, muffled sound echoed from far down the long corridor—a soft clink-clink of glass and the gentle hum of playing violins.
Alphard pushed himself up onto his tiny feet. He took one step, but his cozy socked feet lost their grip on the super-smooth, polished floor.
Slidddde.
He wobbled, his chubby arms flailing like a little windmill, but he didn't fall! He stopped, blinked, and then slid his other foot forward.
Slidddde.
"Ooh!"
A big, wide grin split his soot-covered face. It was a slide floor! He giggled, wiggling his hips to make his feet swish back and forth. Slide, slide, swish.
Following the shiny lights and the music at the very end of the hall, he slid his way toward a massive set of open double doors. He peeked his little head around the carved wooden frame—and his grey eyes went wide as saucers.
So many big people!
There were long, swishy dresses, tall, polished shoes making clack-clack sounds, and giant yellow chandeliers hanging high, high up like floating stars. And right near the doorway, sitting on a long table covered in a silver cloth, was a giant mountain made of clear, sparkling glass with fizzing yellow bubbles and bright red cherries on top.
"Pretty," Alphard whispered in total awe.
Forgetting all about sliding, he set his sight on the shiny glass tower and began his grand, wobbly toddler march straight toward it.
*****
Dora was thoroughly enjoying herself. She and Charlie had managed to slip away into the alcoves of the ballroom before Lord Arcturus or Sirius could drag her around to meet every stuffy pureblood lord in the hall. With her mother resting upstairs on the second floor alongside Aunt Narcissa and the rest of her family members being surrounded by other people, Dora was temporarily free from supervision and free to roam.
She couldn't help but notice a few of the younger pureblood heirs watching her from across the floor, eyeing her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity, but she blithely ignored them. They kept their distance, however, largely thanks to the sight of Charlie Weasley, who stood beside her with a protective glare intended for anyone who dared step too close.
Truthfully, she was just glad Charlie was by her side. Her balance on the slick, polished marble floor was disastrous, and the boy had already caught her by the elbow twice tonight before she could crash into a guest or a tower of champagne flutes.
"Here. Took it from the house-elves," Dora whispered, slipping out from behind a silver-draped pillar and handing a crystal glass to Charlie.
Charlie raised an eyebrow, inspecting the amber liquid as it caught the light of the chandeliers. "Is this alcohol?" he asked, glancing around nervously. "Are we even allowed this?"
"It's sweetened spiced mead! Half-strength," Dora declared, waving her hand dismissively as she took a confident gulp from her own glass. "Besides, we're in the House of Black. The only rule is don't get caught— Hey!"
Before the rim of her glass could even touch her lips again, it was plucked straight out of her hand from behind. Beside her, Charlie jumped so badly that his own glass slipped from his fingers and shattered across the marble.
It was Bill! "Oh, hi Bill!" Dora greeted after Bill cast Reparo on the shattered glass.
"Dora! I still can't believe it's you. Who knew you were a daughter of the illustrious Black family!" Bill said. "And Charlie! Mum and dad were beside themselves when they saw you escorting the new young lady Black down the stairs. I thought Mum was going to faint."
"Shut up Bill!" Both Charlie and Dora's faced turned red.
Bill smirked, twirling Dora's confiscated glass between two fingers with practiced, older-brother ease. "Oh, don't 'shut up, Bill' me. Mum's already cornered Dad near the punch bowl to whisper about 'courtship protocols' and whether or not Charlie remembers his table manners."
"It's not a courtship!" Charlie hissed, his cheeks flaming a violent Weasley red that rivaled his hair. "She needed an escort because she doesn't want her face to fall flat on the floor! She nearly fell off her heel on the second stair!"
"I did not fall; I tripped over a very aggressive hem!" Dora protested, her face burning just as hot. She glared up at Bill, reaching on her tiptoes to snatch her glass back. "Give that back, Bill. That was hard to swipe."
"Not a chance," Bill said smoothly, raising the glass well out of her reach. "And besides—you're eleven, and Charlie's twelve! You shouldn't even be touching mead!"
"When are we allowed to start drinking then?" Charlie countered, folding his arms indignantly. "It's half-strength!"
"Mead is for when you're much older," Bill lectured, putting on his best prefect-in-training voice. "The absolute best you can hope for is a tiny glass of wine when you turn twelve, and that's only at Christmas dinner."
"I can drink wine?!" Charlie asked, his eyes brightening, who just turned twelve a few days ago.
"Hey! That's not fair, that's age discrimination!" Dora squawked, stamping her foot. "I won't be twelve until February!"
"Take it up with the Ministry, Nymphadora—" Bill started, but he was cut off as Dora lunged forward to grab the glass again.
Her heel caught the edge of her formal gown, and she pitched forward with a dramatic gasp. Charlie reacted instantly, darting out a hand and catching her firmly by the elbow before she could face-plant onto the polished marble.
"Whoa! Gotcha," Charlie breathed, hoisting her back upright. "You really need to watch your step."
"Thanks," Dora muttered, smoothing down her skirts and that was when her eyes caught a tiny flicker of movement down near the floor, heading straight past the silver-draped pillars.
Dora froze. Her jaw dropped as she squinted through the sea of robes.
Down at knee-height, a tiny, dark-haired toddler was doing a wobbly, sliding shuffle across the slick marble floor. He was covered in soot from his messy curls down to his knees, his face streaked with gray, but his big grey eyes were locked with absolute, laser-focused fascination on the shimmering champagne tower nearby.
Dora gasped, grabbing Charlie's arm so hard her knuckles turned white. "Is that... Alphie?!"
"Who's Alphie?" Bill asked, frowning as he looked down.
"Sirius's baby!" Dora squeaked in sheer panic, her hair flashing a terrified shade of neon pink before she violently forced it back to black. "What is he doing here?! He's supposed to be at home! If Uncle Sirius or Grandfather Arcturus sees him roaming around covered in soot, the whole hall will lose their minds!"
"He's heading right for the champagne tower," Charlie noted, his eyes widening. "He thinks it's a toy!"
"Help me catch him!" Dora hissed, already breaking into a clumsy run. "Before he knocks the whole thing—whoa!"
She tripped over her hem again, but Charlie caught her by the waist this time, steadying her as they both bolted after the toddler. Bill abandoned the mead on a passing house-elf's tray and sprinted right behind them.
"Alphie! Stop!" Dora whispered loudly, dropping to her knees to slide across the floor toward him.
Alphard turned his head, spotted Dora and the two tall red-headed boys charging at him, and let out a delighted, ringing giggle. He didn't think he was in trouble—he thought it was a game!
"Play!" Alphard squealed happily.
With surprising toddler agility, he ducked his head, dropped back onto all fours, and dived straight under the nearest long table, vanishing beneath the heavy, silver tablecloths!
"Where'd he go?!" Charlie yelled, skidding to a halt.
"Under the tables!" Dora hissed, diving flat onto her hands and knees and lifting the edge of the tablecloth. "Alphie, come back out here!"
From beneath the table, a tiny pair of socked feet went swish-swish as Alphard giggled maniacally, scrambling deeper into the maze of draped white and silver linen toward the champagne display.